


Right Now, as Ever

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, Other, Platonic Relationships, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), but be aware this is Ferdinand PoV, the ladies are featured for more than brief ambience I promise, they're a quartet of life partners of various kinds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Ferdinand returns from a trip to find his friends engaged and his partner unusually restrained.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Constance von Nuvelle (side), Ferdinand von Aegir & Constance von Nuvelle, Ferdinand von Aegir & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Right Now, as Ever

As always, Hubert appears without warning, exactly as needed. The moment Ferdinand’s hands are free of reins and luggage, he finds Hubert in the stable, with a clear path for Ferdinand to launch himself at him. Ferdinand exclaims and clings. Blocking out the stable’s smell, he inhales a long-denied scent. These past few moons have been a banquet for the nostrils—Derdriu’s fish markets, Gautier’s pine forests, even coffee Brigid imports from Dagda. It is like a home-cooked meal to breathe in the smoky, metallic echo of dark magic.

After a whispered greeting, Hubert disentangles himself. He orders Ferdinand’s attendants to take his luggage inside.

“I could have taken care of it,” Ferdinand says.

“Do you not want some semblance of privacy?”

Hubert pulls him into the stable’s shadows. Ignoring the nearest horse’s snort, he cups Ferdinand’s face and searches him, running a thumb over a scar on his jaw.

“A minor bandit attack on the carriage,” Ferdinand says before Hubert can ask. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Did they get away?”

Ferdinand puffs up and affects an easy grin. “You think Adrestia’s best knight cannot handle himself?” The lines of Hubert’s brow only deepen.

On any other day, Ferdinand would have justified his leniency. They would argue the point through dinner—the bandits were young, desperate, hopelessly outmatched—and he would consider himself the debate’s victor until that night, when Hubert’s teeth would carefully scrape the scar’s path.

On any other day, it has not been moons since he could press Hubert against the wall and swallow the fretting that bleeds through his letters.

Hubert finds the air to say, “Then you ran into no other trouble?” He is slow to drop his hands from Ferdinand’s face and wrap his arms around him. Like he forgot how, or if he is supposed to.

With Hubert’s heart thrumming in his palm, Ferdinand forces himself to ease up. “There was nothing more eventful than in my reports.”

“And you. You have been all right?”

Ferdinand gives him a pat on the chest and a gentler kiss. “I am now.”

Hubert’s jaw works at something, but he smiles without another word.

* * *

Diplomacy took Ferdinand to the far corners of Fódlan and beyond, past the point he ever expected. The war was recorded in every charred house, every worn face, every unevenly stocked market. Everything he cannot turn away from. All he has learned will spill over the edges of many council meetings before he can put enough (never enough) into motion.

He is regaling Hubert with tales of Sreng when they arrive at the palace library. His feet have yet to touch down, as he periodically stops to pick Hubert up with him, and Hubert tolerates it. It grounds Ferdinand, like toes in warm sand, to see Edelgard seated at a table, the planet that Constance orbits around. Constance stops and pivots toward them.

“You. Just in time,” she says, as if Ferdinand has not been gone for over two moons.

“Dare I ask, for what?”

“We require an opinion. Is the proper time for magical sky bursts before or after the wedding?”  
  
“Or never,” Edelgard says.

The brief footing Ferdinand gained falters. “And whose wedding would this be?”

Silence falls. For moons, he has buzzed with the roll of carriage wheels, and the clopping of hooves, and the cries of an entire continent. His gaze slides to the table. It bends under numerous lists, swatches of dyed fabric, and half-eaten cake samples.

The smallest, pettiest, most selfish part of him thinks, _and I did not even merit_ _a letter?_

Edelgard rests her temple in her hand. “Hello, Ferdinand. We were waiting to announce it in person.” She looks at Constance, who presses her own fingers to her mouth.

“Indeed. Rather, surprise!” She removes her glove with her teeth and presents her hand. Amidst a web of magical scars shines an amethyst set in a gold ring. Rather than lifting her fingers for an appraisal, Ferdinand picks her up by the waist to spin her around. “Oh,” she squeals. “What was that for?”

“My dearest friends are to be wed!” he says with a laugh. “Can I not express my joy?”

“Not quite,” she says, on the ground but loose in his arms. She rises onto her toes to loudly whisper, “It’s top secret information.”

Through all this, Hubert has circled to stand beside Edelgard. He gives Constance the most unimpressed look the man is capable of. Whether or not Edelgard would like to mirror it, she smiles gently.

“Now that Ferdinand is back, we should announce it properly,” Edelgard says.

Ferdinand releases Constance to clutch his heart. They waited for him?

“I still think it should be written in the sky above all of Enbarr,” Constance says, arching an arm over her head.

“Is there a spell for that?” Ferdinand asks.

“My dear Ferdinand.” Constance clucks her tongue. “The question is, _when_ can there be a spell for that?”

In other company, Edelgard would not have rested her elbow on the table, let alone her cheek in her hand. _Utterly besotted_ , Ferdinand thinks for perhaps the first time, and the glow of it bathes him.

“Purpose aside, I can’t say I disagree with your attitude,” Edelgard says.

Constance heaves a sigh. “If only the Imperial wedding planner would sign off on anything…”

Arms crossed, Hubert finally speaks up. “I will ensure Her Majesty’s wedding proceeds on schedule, with every security measure and the suitable decorum.”

Constance, who did not look toward Hubert to address him, still manages to turn away from his attention. “Ferdie, would you please hurry up and marry into House Vestra so someone with taste may take up the position? For the first time in centuries, presumably.”

Heat floods Ferdinand’s face, no doubt with the color that drains from Hubert. Paying no mind to the Bolganone she has dropped between them, Constance turns to review a list with Edelgard.

Hubert returns to Ferdinand’s side and clears his throat. He bends toward his ear without bothering to whisper. “Plainly, you have not missed much.”

“We’ve been hard at work these past moons, you know,” Edelgard says. “I’ll catch you up later, Ferdinand. I imagine you would like to settle in first.” She gives Hubert a meaningful look.

Constance blinks as if realizing there is a Ferdinand there, where there has not been one in some time. “Oh! And you must tell me all about your trip!”

“Of course, my dear. I selected only the finest souvenirs for you,” he says.

“I expect results, as well. A Nuvelle is not bought with mere trinkets,” she says, but her eyes shine.

* * *

When they finally enter the prime minister’s chambers, Hubert helps Ferdinand out of his coat and inspects him again, hands sliding down his sides. Ferdinand closes the remaining distance between their mouths. This is all he thought about when he lay alone at night, or made himself tea, or slid hidden daggers into place.

Breathing a sigh, he rests his forehead against Hubert’s. “I feel as if the sun has finally risen.”

“Indeed.”

“It hardly sets in Sreng, this time of year. But still.”

“That must have suited you.”  
  
“To a point.” Ferdinand leans back to brush Hubert’s hair from his face. “Are you happy?”

“I am.” After his letters’ flowing, formal descriptions, his pointed romantic metaphors, his achingly dark confessions—two syllables, and a small smile that reaches his eyes. Ferdinand settles enough to stand slightly apart from him.

“And do Edelgard and Constance seem happy?” Ferdinand asks.

“They do. Her Majesty speaks hopefully of the future. Constance will make a clever and ambitious consort, possessed of great magical ability, if not easily distracted.”

“Yes, well, as much as we admire Edelgard’s drive, she tends toward a narrow focus. Does a good marriage not require balance?”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Hubert’s soft voice melts into silence. Without breaking eye contact, he loops a pinky around Ferdinand’s ring finger, evoking children making promises in the yard.

Ferdinand hears his own voice from outside himself. “Someone with taste, hm?”  
  
“Hm.”

“Perhaps now is not the time. I hardly want to steal the ladies’ thunder.”

“I care nothing for ceremony. I would be your husband right now, this instant.”

At once, Ferdinand knows what it is like for Hubert’s victims, to be blindsided with such fervor in one strike. Before Ferdinand can respond, Hubert steps back.  
  
“I beg your pardon. You must want to unpack,” he murmurs, bending to pick up Ferdinand’s luggage.

Ferdinand unstraps the sword at his hip as he scans the chamber. Sunbeams shine through the open curtains on the table, which is set for tea and decorated with fresh flowers. Still, nothing implies Hubert used this room before today. No black coat on its designated hook, understated cravat pins on the stand below, or books or documents on the coffee table. It hits Ferdinand what Hubert is really asking, why he has been holding back since they reunited.

“Hubert.” Ferdinand touches his arm. “There was never a moment where I doubted this was our home. Not even the Immaculate One could have prevented my return.”

Brittle beneath his palm, Hubert slowly unwinds. “Of course.”

Ferdinand plies the luggage from Hubert’s grip. “But if you would like to be my dutiful husband, I could very much use a cup of tea.”

As always, Hubert hurries to deliver.


End file.
